


'cause there's this tune i found (that makes me think of you somehow)

by Valkyrees



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: F/F, Kissing, Pining, Smut, Some angst, Yearning, ex rockstars, famer's market, farming, girl group, kara lives on a farm, lena is now a solo artist and she's struggling, she gardens, she has houseplants, they drink smoothies, they have sex, they're dumb and need to talk, this is all i've ever wanted to write
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-06-02
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:27:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23741542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Valkyrees/pseuds/Valkyrees
Summary: -They still have the memories; the diehard fans and sold-out arenas, the big nights and big shows and big promises they never managed to keep. The only thing they don't have is each other.ORau; lena sees kara at a farmer's market ten years after their music career ends
Relationships: Kara Danvers/Lena Luthor, Samantha "Sam" Arias/Alex Danvers
Comments: 182
Kudos: 997





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i haven't been able to think of anything other than writing a farm fic for months now.
> 
> that's it.
> 
> hope y'all enjoy xx
> 
> I'm on [TUMBLR](https://valkyrieskwad.tumblr.com/) and [TWITTER](https://twitter.com/VaIkyrieSquad). Come hang out with me!
> 
> <3

_It's 6:28 in the evening, and Lena's life has been over for fifty-six minutes._

_Her mind keeps spiraling through the details of the past eighteen months: album sales and streaming counts and tour dates; how somewhere along the way they lost what it takes to be worth a damn in the music industry, how their fans moved on and their sound didn't change, and everything went from great to good to bad almost in an instant. She keeps thinking about that, how they were doing fine, conquering the world, and then one day the sun rose just to reveal that they were suddenly old dogs with very, very outdated tricks._

_Mostly, though, she keeps thinking about Kara: how soft her lips were, how they'd kiss and pretend it didn't mean anything because it was just New Years' Eve or Lena's birthday, or they were celebrating their new contract and they'd had a couple too many drinks._

_She keeps thinking about the frown on Kara's face the last time she saw her,_ _how her eyes dimmed when she said she was 'going home to the farm'._ _When she told Lena that her dad was sick and she really had to go, but she'd get in touch when she could, and the words fell short of everything they were meant to make Lena feel._

_Lena should have asked to go with her when she had the chance, put everything on the line right then and there, said she loved her or told her anything remotely meaningful. But instead, she told her the label needed someone to run the press circuit and handle the fallout._

_She told Kara she'd volunteer to do it, promised they'd hang out sooner rather than later, that Kara could finally teach her how to milk a cow or grow plants or whatever the fuck it is that farmers do._

_She promised this wasn't the end for them, just a brand new journey, but the fog hanging over their heads kept saying otherwise._

_So basically, the entire world ends on a random Tuesday for Lena Luthor, and no one is even there to watch her cry._

-

For the first time in ten years, Lena's in the recording studio.

It feels weird. There's no one looking over her shoulder whenever she starts to scribble lyrics in her journal, no one badly singing lines to her half-written songs and telling her she's the best talent since _the Beatles or something_. She's never recorded a single song without Kara, even going back to the demos they used to make in Lena's bathroom. When they'd cram inside with four filled-up notebooks and threadbare band shirts, yelling songs at the laptop screen and uploading them online like they were actually _the shit_.

 _God_ , she used to have so much fucking confidence.

But that was two lifetimes and fifteen pounds ago, back when she didn't care if her voice cracked like nail polish, when she lived for the bright lights and loud crowds, when her heart ran on nothing but adrenaline and sweat and the way Kara's voice would get scratchy six songs into a set.

With Kara, she felt like she could do anything, like any direction she stretched her fingertips she'd just land on gold as long as they were in each other's corners. But she hasn't talked to Kara in eight years, and the thought that she has to do this whole thing without her best friend by her side is really giving her massive fucking anxiety. So is the fact that her new diet says she can't eat _carbs_.

"Do you think I can do this?" she asks Sam, phone pressed to her ear as she loads her guitar into the trunk of her car and tries not to think about the fact that she just blew away eight hours of studio time. "Do you _really_ think I can do this?"

"Do what?" Sam asks. "Record your future platinum album? Have the best fucking come back tour in history? Or do you mean like, actually follow through with the diet you don't even need to be on?"

Lena groans. "You're being terrible on purpose."

"What? For believing in you? That's a wild accusation!"

"No, it's not. You're terrible, and I need you to make me feel better."

Sam laughs at that, a sound warm enough Lena actually relaxes a little, walking over to kick at the tree next to her car, lingering in the nice breeze a little while longer. "It was your first day in the studio, right? Didn't go well?"

"That's an understatement," Lena mumbles, looking down at her scuffed up converse. "I just sat there erasing and rewriting lines, and suddenly every melody I'd thought of wasn't in my head anymore. I think I spent more time on the couch staring at the ceiling than anything else."

"It's all part of the creative process, yeah?"

"No, it's never been this way before," Lena sighs, trying not to think about Kara, but she is definitely _thinking about Kara_. This would be so much fucking easier if she were here. "It used to come natural. It used to be _fun_."

"Hey, it still is," Sam reassures her, voice softening. "You just have to get back into the groove of it."

"I don't know, I just keep thinking about--" _Kara_ , she starts to say, but she can do this without her. She _can_ do this without her. Kara chose a new life and a new life plan and she's probably happy and married with six children or something. Lena can get her life on track and figure this shit out and _make this work_. All she's talked about for the past three years is doing this album, so she can't afford to fuck it up. "I just keep thinking there isn't room for me anymore. No one is waiting for me to come back, so who's going to care?"

"Are you kidding me? People still write fanfiction about you and Kara. If you came back, they'd be ecstatic," Sam says, and Lena has a million questions, but mostly she _doesn't want to know_. "Besides, even if no one is waiting, they'll still love it once they hear it. They'll love _you_ , because it's impossible not to, and I'd bet every single dollar I have on that."

It's very possible not to love Lena, she's seen it happen before. But it feels like she's filled her quota of sulky, so she says, "I hope you're right. I mean, of course I hope this works out, I just. I'm so fucking nervous. I've been gone so long I forgot what this feels like."

"You're thinking about it too much," Sam says.

"Yeah, probably," Lena whispers.

"I mean, you know, doesn't the best stuff come when you shut your brain off, stop thinking about it for a while."

"I don't know," Lena says. The best stuff comes when Kara's by her side, and that's probably why it's taken her three years to get this project off the ground. That's probably why it's taken her _ten_ years to even consider actually starting a solo career. She feels like she can't do this without Kara, like she's not an independent act, and maybe this is all just proving it. "This is a new process for me, I guess."

"Okay, um," Sam starts, then she takes a deep breath and says, "How about we put this day behind us, and you let me take you somewhere on Saturday? You'll love it, and your diet will too. I promise."

"Okay," Lena says, then, "Thanks, Sam. For everything."

She still feels like shit when she gets home, but there's a small, hopeful part of her that feels like she can do this. There's an even smaller part of her that wants to text Kara about this whole thing, shoot her a message out of the blue, about studio life and getting back into the game and doing all this shit alone when it was supposed to be them together forever, or something like that.

She doesn't, though, because if there's one thing that years of backspaced messages and unsent conversation starters and deleted email drafts have told her--it's that she can't talk to Kara. She doesn't know how. She doesn't know where to start. Eight years is probably too much passed time to start with _i love you_ , and if she can't say that, then what's the point, anyway? 

She goes to bed feeling more fucked up than she did when she got home, but that's usually how life goes for her these days.

-

_Lena looks at the plane ticket in her email until her eyes go blurry._

_Metropolis -- > Midvale Depart: 9:43am, Arrive: 12:12pm_

_She can't do it. She hasn't spoken to Kara in months, hasn't seen her in person in years, and the last words she has from her are a text message from two days ago that just says: dad died, funeral Saturday, and Kara didn't even bother to respond to Lena's 'sorry to hear that' and whatever else she sent. She can't do this. They're not who they used to be, and she can't fucking meet up again at a funeral.  
_

_She's spent the past year spiraling, falling apart, partying, drinking, spiraling, having sex. She can't do this._

_She sends a text that just says 'sorry'._

_She cancels her plane ticket._

-

She wakes up to several texts from Sam and it makes her smile as soon as she sees them.

She shouldn't be surprised by it, considering Sam has been in her corner non-stop the last six years and she wouldn't let Lena go to bed and _wake up_ without leaving her with something ridiculous to laugh at in the morning. But she still feels like her heart is swelling.

_**< Messages Samantha Info** _

_SA [3:57am]: hey, so i was doing research, for science, because it's my job to know what the internet thinks of you, you know? because i need to be on top of it. as your manager. these things are important, i promise._

_SA [3:59am]: anyway, that was a long opener just to say that there's a Tumblr blog dedicated to these um, conspiracy theories? about you and kara back in the day, and they think you're like holed up somewhere secretly married with thirty kids._

_SA [4:02am]: the best part though is that they have all these theories for what you'd be like as a mom and it's real cute, like the internet thinks you were super hardcore in the band, but you're secretly the soft one and kara has to be the one to put her foot down because the kids are so cute and you're like mush mush marshmallow jello around them_

_SA [4:04am]: basically a group of internet lesbians still write about you and imagine you as soft and cute, so they're going to love your new album and love you and even if it's just sixteen weirdos buying it, you'll make their whole entire life_

_SA [4:05am]: we all love you, lena_

_SA [4:06am]: I've never sent texts this long, this should have been an email. sweet dreams xx_

Lena sends back, _love you_ , then tries to remind herself she can make every day a great one. Or something like that.

_-_

Sam's idea of a great Saturday is a Farmer's Market. Lena isn't exactly _ecstatic_ , but she goes along with it.

"Don't look now, but I think someone wants an autograph," Sam says, and Lena snorts, fighting the urge to throw a handful of grapes in her general direction. She still looks over her shoulder to check, though, and there's just a neck-beard obviously trying to flirt with her.

She hates Sam, from somewhere deep inside her soul.

"I hate you," she laughs, then rolls her eyes. "I don't think anyone even knows who I am without six layers of eyeliner and black lipstick."

"I don't know, you have a very memorable jawline," Sam says, and Lena actually throws the grapes this time, laughing along with her. The vendor doesn't look too pleased with that, so Lena makes sure to grab a lot into her reusable bag. "I knew you'd love a Farmer's Market. I bet your label would be _over the moon_ if you texted them a picture next to that _organic-only_ sign. Hashtag finally shedding those pounds."

"Will you _let it go_ ," Lena groans, shuffling money out of her pocket to pay. She's going to spend thirty-six dollars at this stall alone, just on carrots and grapes and broccoli and for what? She'll be on the floor in her kitchen eating ice cream from the carton in less than four days, probably. "They're right, you know? I'd sell more albums if people think I'm sexy, and part of being _mainstream_ sexy is being thin. Plus, the first thing any headline is going to do is say: Lena Luthor's back, and look! She's gotten fat. Click to see pictures of her six chins."

"Don't be ridiculous, you have _three_ , max. Maybe four if you're looking down at your phone while lying in bed."

"That's exactly why no one else is lying in bed _with_ me," Lena frowns, then adds, "And I don't want a relationship pep talk. Between recording and planning the tour and doing the press circuit and _doing the tour_ , I just don't have the time. Let me be sad."

"It's not in my nature," Sam smiles, rolling her eyes at the fruit, before deciding to buy an organic dark chocolate bar for the price of five king-size Reese's. She can eat a dozen pizzas a day, and _still_ somehow stay a stick. "Besides, don't you want to get laid?"

"No, I think that one's always been your dream," Lena says, and Sam snorts, peeling the wrapper off her bar as they walk to the next stall. There's jarred honey and jam and an assortment of beaded bracelets that Lena's immediately interested in.

"I just want this whole thing to work out, you know? I feel like I'm not getting any younger."

"The market is wide open for above 30 singer-songwriters," Sam says, nibbling her chocolate. "You can be the lesbian John Legend if you play your cards right. And you have me, so like, you're playing your cards right."

Lena shakes her head, but Sam--god, she's good at her job, so it's hard to argue. "I hope you're right, you know? All this confidence better not be for nothing. Because if this all goes to shit I'm blaming _you_."

"Can you blame me when it goes well, then? I'm looking for at least a 50% pay increase."

"Whatever," Lena huffs, trying out a bracelet with dolphins on her wrist, before placing it back on the table. "Think I can get a stylist?"

"You think you need one?" Sam asks, looking up, looking _hopeful_. "I mean, I have like six on speed dial, just say the word. But only if you really think you need one. That rustic grandma chic you have going is kind of your _thing_."

"Hey, excuse _you_ ," Lena says pointedly, scrunching her face up, "are you insinuating I have no style? Is that what you're doing?"

Sam bites her lip like she's trying to stop her laugh, and Lena presses her mouth in a flat line to hold back her own. 

"That's not at all what I'm saying. Come on, would I do that?"

As Lena opens her mouth to reply, dragging her eyes from Sam to the thick hustle of people in the market behind her, three things happen.

The first is Lena noticing this is an absolutely beautiful day.

The sun is out, the wind is blowing, the sky has enough clouds to cast pretty shadows every few minutes. She loves days like today, days that feel like everything is okay and the world is maybe happy, and if she stops and looks at the trees long enough she can get her shit together. The second thing is Lena realizing she'd rather spend a beautiful day like this doing _anything_ but being surrounded by hipsters talking about their gluten intolerance, about raw fermentation and intestinal flora, and if granola causes inflammation.

Seriously, anything. But, more importantly:

The third thing that happens is _her stomach hitting the ground_.

Because, right there, five stalls down, twisting a large head of lettuce in her hands, smile big and genuine as she chats up the vendor, is Kara.

She's just there.

Casually.

Buying lettuce on a beautiful day in a beautiful sweater with a beautiful smile, like she's allowed to _do that._

 _We should leave_ , Lena thinks immediately, against every hot pull and burn inside of her, at the exact same time Sam turns around, stares, and says, "Holy shit, is that Kara?" _Fuck_. "Jesus, how long has it been? You should go say hi. We should go over there. Let's go over there."

"Um, yeah, we, yeah I guess. We should," Lena fumbles out.

So that's how, on a beautiful Saturday morning, surrounded by overly-concerned-about-their-gut-health hipsters, Lena ends up getting dragged across a Farmer's Market to see Kara fucking Danvers for the first time in ten years with absolutely nothing to say.

When they're six feet away, her stomach starts twisting in knots. When they're four feet away, Sam yells, "Hey, Kara Danvers!" and when they're _right next to_ Kara, Lena thinks she's going to die or pass out or shit her pants or something.

But Kara just looks up, looks shocked, smiles as big as the sun, and suddenly Lena's in a tight hug. 

She smells Kara before she gets a chance to hold her breath, and she smells exactly the same way she used to, like she hasn't changed her shampoo or detergent or soap since the day Lena met her. She smells _familiar_ and she feels warm and it's like nothing's changed. Which makes a thousand memories come crashing down on Lena all at once, like a toppling building or an avalanche, or _no_ \--something much fucking bigger, like the asteroid that killed all the fucking dinosaurs. She doesn't know what to say or do or _how she feels_ , but Kara's hugging her.

"Jesus, I missed you," Kara says, and it's not fair. This isn't fair. "I feel like my heart is beating so fast."

"Me too," Sam says. "Wow, what are the chances?"

Lena suddenly wants to kill Sam in at least seventeen different ways, because what _are_ the chances that they randomly drive to a Farmer's Market _fifty minutes_ out of their way and Kara fucking shows up just like _that_. God, this isn't good.

"It's so good to see you," Lena says, and she sounds hoarse and out of breath and panicked even to her own ears. She does her best to disentangle herself without making it awkward, and thankfully, Kara's quick to let her go. "You look, um. Good."

She says it, but she's not looking at Kara, not really. Her eyes are glazing over because she feels light-headed and out of breath and dizzy and her own heart is beating so fast. She feels faint, but Kara always looks good, so it's safe to say. 

"Thanks," Kara says, and her voice hits Lena _hard_ , square in the chest like she's boxing without her hands up. "You look freaking amazing, wow. Sorry, I just. I wasn't expecting to see you today or _ever_ , I'm like. I'm losing my mind. I don't know what to say."

"What've you been up to?" Sam asks, settling her hand on Lena's back like she does when Lena's freezing up at a bad moment. Like she does when she's telling Lena she's _there_. Like she does when something's wrong. Fuck, Lena's being awkward. "I'm sure you've got stories."

"Yeah, I've got so much. I'm here with Alex. We, um--" she cuts off and turns to yell, " _Hey, Alex, get over here. It's Lena!_ " before she turns back and says, "We have a stall here. We're selling vegetables from the farm. We farm-- _are_ farmers."

"Nice," Sam says.

"Holy fuck," Alex yells, trotting over, and Lena's in another hug before she can process anything. "It really is you. In the flesh."

Alex pulls back and looks her over like she's some sort of specimen, then she looks to Sam, and Lena awkwardly informs her, "This is Samantha Arias. She's my manager. I just call her Sam, though. That's what she goes by."

Sam puts her hand on Lena's back again. "Yep, just Sam. That's me."

"Well, it's nice to meet you, Samantha Arias," Alex says slowly, letting Lena go to outstretch a hand, and Kara's mouth falls open.

"Oh my god, don't do that," she gasps, laughing afterward. "You only repeat someone's full name when you're trying to flirt. It is _not_ the time."

"What? I don't do that," Alex defends.

"Yeah, you do," Kara says, and Lena finds herself smiling a little at the way Alex playfully cuts her eyes in her direction. "It's like your _thing_. It's the one move you have and it never works."

"It's not my _thing_ ," Alex says, turning back to Sam. "I promise. It's not. I don't even have a thing. I don't do things."

"Well, if you promise, then I believe you, Alex Danvers," Sam says, taking Alex's hand, and Alex flushes hot enough even Lena feels the heat.

It feels like everything is moving so fast, everyone is hugging and flirting and joking, and god. _Kara_. Lena's just trying to latch onto the fact that she's standing right in front of her. 

"Can you believe she's almost forty?" Alex asks, letting Sam's hand go and taking a step back so she can wrap her arm around Kara. She shakes her a bit roughly, but Kara's giggling at it. "Whoever thought Kara Danvers would grow up?"

"I'm 35," Kara frowns. "That means there are five long years between now and _forty,_ and I plan to take my time getting there."

"Sometimes I still feel like we're kids," Alex says.

"Yeah, it felt like we'd be young forever at one point," Lena adds, and it still feels off. _S_ _he_ still feels off, because she still can't get the hang of the conversation, because she still can't let herself really see Kara and process this is all real.

"Yeah," Kara says. "It's like one day you're on your fourth world tour, and the next you're in the garden wondering if there'll be a drought this season. It's like it catches up to you fast and slow at the same time."

 _Some of us never moved on from the last world tour_ , Lena wants to say. But she's proud of Kara and her farm and her new life, and the potential wife she wants to ask about but can't because her hearts in her throat. "Yeah, it's all so fast and so slow," she repeats.

Then, she finally just. Looks at Kara. She looks up and really looks at her: pretty and toned and perfect. Pink lips and broad shoulders and sun-bleached hair. She's looking right back at Lena, too, and it feels like a flood, a rising tide. Her eyes are still the kind of blue you get lost in, and they've only gotten better with ag _e, jesus fuck_. She's always had this way of looking like everything is okay even when it's not, and Lena's always found strength in that. And she still does. Even now. It's like nothing's changed, and that's a heavy feeling.

"Hey, why don't you two take a walk?" Alex says suddenly. "Nia and I can work the stand, and I can show Sam the behind-the-scenes."

"You sure I won't just be in the way?" Sam asks.

"Of course you won't, don't be silly," Alex tells her fast.

"That's okay, really. I'd hate to--" Lena starts to say, but Kara cuts her off.

"It's okay, we're here all the time. Let me show you around. I know where all the good stuff is."

"Oh, well, okay, yeah. Sure, then," Lena says, so they go for a walk.

It's awkward from the start. They don't even small-chat, they just keep moving in silence, rustling through the crowd.

Lena wants to say so much, from _god, you're fucking tall_ to _you're so much broader and lovelier, I can't catch my breath when i look at you_ to _do you remember that time at one of the afterparties for the Grammys? how you had two champagne glasses and pulled me into that little room and it was the first time we made out. not just kissed, we made out, and then we didn't talk about it._ She wants to ask if Kara still thinks about all those times like _she_ does, or if it was all some sort of failed experiment for her. Was it really just the drinks and the adrenaline, just Kara feeling like she was on top of the world and she could do anything without anyone getting hurt because of it.

She wants to ask about her family, about Jeremiah dying, ask how Eliza's doing and if she talks to Clark. She wants to ask about every plant she's ever grown, every vegetable and fruit, and ask for pictures of her holding giant squash with dirtied-up hands and a too-big smile. She wants to hear about all the meals she's cooked, all her bread recipes, how she makes a sourdough starter and if she owns houseplants. She wants to hear everything about Kara's life that Kara can possibly tell her, because that's what she's always wanted.

To be a part of it.

She wants to say so much that she ends up not saying _anything_ after Kara finally asks, "So, how have you been?" and it turns out _that_ speaks more words than all the ones that just ran through her head. Kara stops walking suddenly, pulls her to the side and says, "We should see each other again, somewhere outside of this, somewhere we could just sit down and maybe talk. We should talk."

"I'm sorry I didn't go to the funeral," Lena whispers, and the air feels hot on her skin. Everything feels stuffy and too loud and too quiet, and she feels so isolated but she's surrounded by so many people.

"It's okay," Kara tells her, angling her head to be in Lena's view of the ground.

"It's not. It's why you stopped talking to me."

"That's not true," Kara says. Then there's a pause. She licks her lips, sighs, and actually tells the truth. "Okay, it is true, but I wasn't in an okay place, and by the time I was, it was--it was just too late, it felt like. I don't know."

Lena shrugs and finally looks up. "It always feels too late, doesn't it?"

"Well, it's n--"

"I'm going on tour," she cuts in.

"That's nice," Kara breathes out fast, shaky, running her hands against her pants.

"I'm writing the album now. I'm in the studio. I'm _recording_. I have appearances on singing shows, small roles on television and in movies, and interviews on top of fucking interviews. I'm getting my face out to the public again, making them remember the band and _me_ and give a shit about it when the CD drops and I start touring. Sam put it together, it's all a plan to like, I don't know. Just, make it _stick_ , to make the music relevant. That's all I really want is the music, but I have to do all this other stuff, and I'm so busy, and--"

"Lee, take a breath," Kara says, wrapping her hands around Lena's biceps like she's steadying her. "Make time for me."

"I can't," Lena says immediately, shocking herself and apparently Kara, too, judging by the way her mouth falls open. "I've felt like shit for years, and I'm finally realizing I can do--" she feels choked up, "--I can _do this_ on my own, and you just. You make me feel not okay again."

"Okay," Kara says, but despite everything, she's not letting Lena go. Her hands are still on Lena like hot fucking fire, and Lena wants her to pull them off _so much_ , but she also never wants Kara to let her go. "Do you want a smoothie? There's a stall on the other side, this lady from like, three hours out, and she always has _the best_ fruit. She makes smoothies. They're really freaking delicious, and I promise you'll never have anything like it. So, do you want a smoothie? Please say yes, because I'm not letting you run away, and the only other option is me standing here holding you until you realize that." She pauses to breathe, to swallow, to be _Kara_ , unbearably. "You _can_ do this on your own, okay? I know that. I've always known that from day one. I never thought you couldn't."

" _Kara_."

"Lena," Kara says, then, "You don't have to call me after this. If you want to avoid me, you already know how to do that. But, if this is the last time I see you in person, I just - I want to remember you drinking the world's best smoothie, not like _this_. Please. We don't have to talk about it. Or us. Or me. Or you. Just drink the smoothie, comment on the weather, talk about traffic, and _then_ you can leave. I need this."

"You think you can convince me to stay, to keep talking to you," Lena says, shaking her head.

"I know I won't, and I'm not going to try. I just want to--" she stops short. "I don't know. I just want a few more minutes."

So, they get a smoothie, and Kara slips Lena her number, and Lena goes home to cry.

-

She wants to text an angry message to Sam, but she doesn't. She knows Sam was trying to help, that Sam doesn't know about any of the shit between them, that she told Sam they ended on good terms and just grew apart.

But fuck. God. Fuck. She didn't need this.

-

The studio feels stuffy when she gets back. She has it booked the whole day, so there's no rush, but she still feels like she can't get her head on straight. She always had so many words when she was younger, like love and heartache were bottled inside of her just waiting to be poured out. And she's had so much more love and heartache and _heartache_ than she could have ever imagined, but nothing's there.

The only thing inside of her is the image of how amazing Kara looked, how she sounded genuinely happy to see Lena, how friendly she was being and the fucking phone number Lena has tucked between the back pages of her journal. The only thing she can think about is that _hug_ , and how awkward she made it, and if it'd be bad or good if she was in Kara's life again.

So, for the first time in eight years, she picks up her phone and doesn't backspace the text.

_**< Messages Kara Info** _

_LL [5:26pm]: i hate that i saw you. i hate that i'm texting you._

_KD [5:32pm]: i miss you too_

_LL [5:46pm]: don't say that_

_KD [5:47pm]: is it your music? trouble with lyrics?_

_LL [5:47pm]: it's always that, isn't it?_

_KD [5:48pm]: what feels good? what feels right?_

_LL [5:50pm]: i don't know anymore_

_KD [5:51pm]: don't overthink it. you always know. when you stop thinking and just feel it, you're always so good at it_

_LL [5:52pm]: you don't know me anymore_

_KD [5:53pm]: why'd you text, then?_

_LL [5:56pm]: you know me more than anyone else ever will_

_KD [6:10pm]: i don't know how to respond to that_

_LL [6:10pm]: just don't_

_KD [6:15pm]: okay_

_KD [8:10pm]: will you text again?_

_KD [8:10pm]: if you do, I'll text back right away, or as soon as i can_

_KD [8:11pm]: you don't have to respond right now_

_KD [8:11pm]: i just want you to know that. I'm still here._

_LL [8:20pm]: just go_

_KD [8:21pm]: sorry_

-

She keeps replaying the text in her head, _i'm still here i'm still here i'm still here_ , and like the icing on the fucking cake, she actually does okay in the studio the next day. The music doesn't flow, not yet; but piece by piece she's figuring it out. She pulls it out of herself until it starts to feel familiar, chest aching every few seconds like it wants to reach out to Kara because it's _so close_ to feeling whole again.

She hates this. She hates how much Kara brings out the best in her, how much she brings out the worst and the worst feelings, and how Kara can act like things are just okay again after _this_ long of her being gone and getting prettier and stronger and healthier and figuring out ways to make her skin glow. All while Lena's been on the ever-constant brink of falling apart.

She _hates_ that music is pouring out of her like lava, ripping through her hot and destructive, like the words have to be _out_ and they don't care what they destroy in the process. She hates that she's going to write half her album just because Kara said _i'm still here_.

-


	2. Chapter 2

_It's 11:50, and in ten minutes it'll be a new year._

_In ten minutes, the night will suddenly feel stale and everyone will realize they're too fucking drunk, and the streamers and party hats and noisemakers will all be irrelevant because all anyone will want to do is make it to the nearest fucking Waffle House._

_It's 11:50, and Lena's snuggled against Kara's side on the king-sized hotel bed, tracing the lines on her flannel and watching Kara stare at the ceiling. It's a calm moment for them, quiet and relaxed, a bit sore, voices still raw from being on stage all night._

_"If we go down now, we can still find a couple of guys to kiss," Lena says, scratching at Kara's side to get her attention. They've been cuddling long enough she's starting to get that ache in her chest, the one that can only be buried by burying herself in someone else. "Come on, we should go. It's good luck or something, right? We can never have too much luck."_

_"I'd rather stay up here," Kara says, pulling her eyes from the ceiling, dragging them up Lena's body until she lands on her face. It's not even subtle the way she does it, so Lena should be able to resist it, but she can't. "I'm good right here with you."_

_"Oh," Lena says, and it feels like something drops in her, like a hot stone inching down a hill, scorching everything it touches. She looks away. "Just humor me for once, please. It's just a two-second kiss, then we're back up."_

_"Yeah, m'not stopping you," Kara tells her, and it makes Lena's throat feel tight. She hates this game and she loves this game and she doesn't want to play anymore, but she'd probably cease existing if Kara ever put a stop to it. It's all too fucking much, and she's never quite sure she can handle it, but she keeps coming back for more. "You're free to kiss whoever you want. I'm just not in the mood for kissing strangers tonight."_

_"I don't want to go down alone," Lena tries._

_"So,_ _you want me to go downstairs with you just to watch you kiss a random person?" Kara asks._

_Lena looks up again and shakes her head, heartbeat thick enough it hurts. "No."_

_Kara smiles, lips tugging wide like she's laughing. "Are you sure that's not what you want? Because that sounds like it's what you want."_

_"It's not," Lena laughs, jittery, nuzzling her face against Kara's shoulder before blinking her eyes up again, watching the way Kara licks her lips, eyes bright and focused, shining in the room light. Lena feels like her belly is twisting in knots, coiling so much it's uncomfortable, because she knows what happens next and it's what she's been dreading and waiting for this entire night. "It's not, I swear."_

_Kara doesn't say anything right away, just looks at her, fingers bunching up Lena's shirt until she can slip them underneath it, chest rising as she trails them hot across Lena's hip. Her breath hitches when she asks, "So, what do you want, then?"_

_Lena's eyes drop like it's instinct. They fall straight to Kara's mouth where it's pink and glistening and motherfucking dangerous,_ _because she never feels good after they do this. But she feels so good_ while _they're doing it. Fuck, she should just say no. "I don't know."_

_"Okay," Kara says right away, moving her hand up, running it across Lena's back. "Well, if you really wanna kiss someone, no one's going to stop you. I mean, it's New Year's Eve. Everyone's trying to kiss someone, right?"_

_"Except you," Lena says, heart thudding as she watches Kara's face fall a bit. It feels risky, like if she presses it too much the moment might pass. But she wants Kara to actually admit she wants to kiss Lena. She wants her to say it openly, instead of hinting at it, joking about it, dancing around it. "You said you didn't want to kiss anyone tonight."_

_"I said I didn't want to kiss a stranger," Kara says, and Lena can see it when she swallows. She can hear her breath shaking. She's nervous. Lena should push more, make her open up, make her put a label on what this is once and for all._

_But she won't. Instead, she presses up and kisses Kara on the corner of her mouth, closes her eyes as she sinks against Kara's chest, warm and heavy and soft, jesus fuck, she wants Kara so fucking much she hates it. She feels like she's breaking, unraveling, falling apart as Kara wraps her arms around her, as she pulls her in snug and lets out a breath so big it seems impossible she was holding it._

_"Fuck," Lena whispers, and then Kara turns her head and they're kissing._

_The worst part is that they stopped doing frantic and fumbly a year ago. The worst part is that Kara holds her close and kisses her slow and acts like she wants to stay here forever, hot breath and teeth and saliva, licking into Lena's mouth like it's the french chocolate candy with the orange jelly on the inside. The worst part is that it feels so good, and feels so right, and Kara always knows how to make it feel like it's okay, how to make it feel like they're not doing anything wrong, how to make Lena feel like she should come back for more._

_The best part is everything else: how soft and firm and sure and warm and hot Kara is. It's the way, for just these few moments, she lets Lena touch her everywhere, explore all the curves and hard and soft edges of her body. It's the little sounds Kara makes, how she barely lets Lena pull away for air, keeps her attached to her like glue, like she genuinely can't fucking let her go._

_The best part is that it feels like Kara actually wants Lena. For just a few minutes. Only while they're doing this._

_By the time they finish, it's 12:05am, and Kara juts her chin at the clock as she says, "See, didn't need to go downstairs after all."_

_"Guess not," Lena mumbles, rolling her bottom lip underneath her teeth and thinking about kissing Kara again. It's over, though—the moment—she can sense it. So, she pulls back, straightens her shirt, and asks, "You want to order a pizza?"_

_"I always want to order a pizza," Kara says, smiling, then she rolls out of bed to get the room service menu._

_-_

Lena spends her next few times in the studio nonstop recording, plucking out note after note that sounds _good_ and sits right and doesn't make her want to pull her notebook out again and start it all over. It feels fucking fantastic—after all the time and money and energy she's wasted away, sitting in this space with its movie theater carpet and deserted pool tables, thinking she had her shit together and _really didn't_ , it finally feels like the album is coming together in a good way. A rewarding way. It's something that makes her smile when she plays it back, makes her close her eyes and tilt her head and _let go_ as she hums along.

She's so excited, she shoots Sam a few samples when she's done with a frantic _EP???_ text and then she gets a single scoop of vanilla ice cream on her way home. Sam texts back six thumbs-up emojis and a smiley face forty minutes later, and Lena knows it won't be long before a venue's booked and tickets are sold and the digital is put out with a limited release vinyl, probably.

She's doing big things. She's down five pounds. Her new moisturizer is working wonders on her face.

She thinks about Kara every six seconds.

She's fucking making it.

_-_

She takes the hottest shower ever when she gets home. It's uncomfortable, but it feels symbolic somehow, like a rebirthing, like she's scrubbing off all the old shit—self-doubt and misery and failure—and coming out better on the other side. She's also scrubbing off six hours of studio sweat and concentration and the grit that comes with creative energy and fucking calluses. After a while, though, it feels like she's just scrubbing off her _skin_ , so she finally gets out. She's stumbling into the kitchen, red and raw with her hair toweled up in a pineapple, when her phone screen lights up on the counter with Andrea's name.

**_< Messages Andrea Info_ **

_AR [5:26pm]: guess who's in town???_

_LL [5:27pm]: oh my god, you're back so soon_

_AR [5:28pm]: i'm coming over_

_LL [5:28pm]: i'm indisposed_

_LL [5:28pm]: haha, i'm kidding, get over here, so much to talk about_

_AR [5:29pm]: should i be worried?_

_LL [5:29pm]: always_

_LL [5:29pm]: but talk to you soon. missed you_

_AR [5:30pm]: missed you, too. so much. can't wait to catch up_

She opens the door an hour later, wearing a pair of sweatpants and an old t-shirt, and she's surprised to find Andrea looking—well, she looks _soft_ , mostly—but Lena's caught off guard by how much she looks _concerned_. Eyebrow raised, nibbling on her lip, head tilted slightly to the side.

"Hey," she says gently. "So, um, I'm gonna do that thing where I pretend Sam didn't text me that you saw Kara. I'm just going to pretend I don't know you've been acting weird, and instead let you casually slip it into our conversation. When you're ready, I'm ready, okay?"

Lena rolls her eyes, stumbles in to hug Andrea, breathes in her perfume like it's Xanax, then lets her go and closes the door behind her as she walks inside. She's always a breath of fucking fresh air.

"Yeah, okay," Lena says. "I was going to bring it up anyway, you know. I just wanted to wait until you were here."

"I know," Andrea tells her, walking past the living area to the island in the kitchen and resting her arms on it, leaning over them. "You look good."

"I've been losing weight," Lena says, following her over, feeling a bit awkward since it feels like she's putting on a show and no one can really tell she lost the weight with baggy clothes on. "I think I'm down five pounds now. It's really not that hard when you—"

"That's not what I meant," Andrea stops her, pressing her mouth in a line, "and it'll never be what I mean. But I'm glad you're reaching your goals. I know you've been working hard at it."

"Yeah, it's—I don't know. I like thinking about this in some magical way. Like when I lose the weight, I'll sell the tickets and that's all it depends on. I just like thinking it's as easy as that, figuring this all out."

"That's how we all think about losing weight. But it's important you know that—"

"I can still fail. Yeah, I know."

She walks over and sits at the barstool in front of the island, smoothes out her shirt, watches Andrea watch her for a second before Andrea takes a deep breath, and says, "No. I was going to say that it never depended on that. You've always been great, and you always _will be_ great no matter your size. Which isn't even an issue, by the way. Do what the label says, but don't internalize that shit, it's dumb."

"I know."

"Do you?"

"Yeah, I - I mean, I mostly know," Lena whispers, looking down at her hands. This is as far as she can get without bringing it up. "Kara looked great. If she wanted to do a comeback album, she would have sold out arenas yesterday."

"How was she?" Andrea asks.

"The same," Lena mumbles, then clears her throat and focuses harder on her fingers.

"I'm sorry," Andrea says a few seconds later, and Lena looks up again. And Andrea's concerned again. And this whole thing is dumb.

"She was like," Lena starts, "I don't know. She pulled _music_ out of me. Seeing her once woke up something I didn't think I had in me anymore. It was bad. _I_ was bad. She didn't do anything wrong, but I treated her like she did, and I can't stop thinking about it."

"It makes sense, though. You got over her, and then she comes back unexpectedly and she's just... the same. That shit is hard to deal with. It feels like a punch to the face, I bet."

"I feel so selfish, but—" Lena swallows hard, because the ugly truth she doesn't want to say out loud is that if she can't be more than friends with Kara, then she doesn't want to be _friends_. She just, she fucking can't. It hurts and she's tried it before and she's tried accepting that Kara isn't hers in the way she wants her to be, but it fucking sucks and she doesn't want to do it anymore. "I don't know, I'm just dumb."

Andrea reads her like a book, though. "You don't want to be her _friend_ , do you?"

"No."

"It's okay," Andrea says instantly, because she has to say that. But it's not. It certainly doesn't feel that way. "We all have that person we can't be just friends with. It's like, no matter what, we're always looking for a sign that they like us. And no matter how supportive and understanding we try to be, it still hurts. I get it."

"Yeah, but she's a good friend," Lena defends.

"They're always a good friend, aren't they?" Andrea asks. "It's part of the reason we get so fucking caught up."

"You're right," Lena says, then, "Tell me about your trip, though? I could use the distraction."

"Of course," Andrea smiles, then they head to the couch.

-

Lena makes an Instagram post two weeks later.

It feels like the release of her EP is more imminent than she's ready for it to be, but after a session of fine-tuning and working out the kinks, everything falls together like lined up dominos in a way that feels as shocking as it is satisfying. It's all moving so fast and she's fucking _nervous_ , but the songs sound _good_ and Sam booked a venue, and they thought it'd be a good idea if she made a post to talk about. So, she puts up a picture of her in the studio—something candid but _not really candid_ with great lighting and a guitar, a thankful caption stamped under it that mostly Sam wrote. And the response is fantastic. No one comments anything negative, and a _ton_ of people are happy to see she's back—glad she's recording, thinks she looks good, a real fucking confidence boost—and it all feels so unbelievable.

Lena keeps scrolling through it, replying when she can, sending screenshots to Andrea, feeling flushed every time she thinks about it. It's _this_ part, she keeps thinking, that never really wears off: being excited to make music for people that are excited to hear it, _god_. This is why she wanted to come back and why she never wants to leave again, and why she appreciates it more than she knows how to put into words or a post.

After a while, the heart emojis and _i loves you's_ and _yay!!_ 's start to blur together, but there's one reply that gets her full attention a few hours after the post has been up. It's not so much what it says, just a simple _proud of you_ , but rather the _name_ on the account— _spikesnspite343_.

It's the dumbest fucking thing, but Lena can't stop thinking about it. It takes her a minute to figure out why it's so familiar, and she nearly snorts when it hits her: it was a screen name she used in _2004_ on a chat site for underground wannabe hardcore musicians, and literally only Kara would know that. Not Andrea or diehard fans or her mom or brother or anyone else in her life. It's something that _only_ Kara would know.

Which means it's either _her_ behind this account or a massive fucking coincidence, and it has Lena's heart beating triple-time.

So, she does the thing _any_ masochistic _caught-up_ person would do.

She requests to follow it without thinking twice about it, breathes too shallowly for too long, and keeps staring at her phone as she waits impatiently for the person to accept. As soon as they do, she clicks on it, waits for it to load, and then her heart stops beating the moment the page pops up. Because she was right. She was so fucking unfortunately _right_. Right there on her screen, there's just... Kara. There's _so much_ Kara, hundreds of pictures of her existing and gardening and cooking, and Lena instantly can't breathe, but she starts scrolling anyway.

She scrolls and clicks and scrolls and looks and zooms until her eyes sting.

It's like a private little window into everything she wanted to ask about but _didn't_ , an instant guilty pleasure, a blast of fucked up feelings she never got _over_ , just repressed. But she can't help herself. She can't stop.

Two hours pass before she realizes it, and then she feels so bad about staring shamelessly and getting lost on Kara's page, and the fact that she's been ghosting Kara, that she actually opens her messages app and starts typing out a text.

**_< Messages Kara Info_ **

_LL [9:28pm]: your username is dumb_

_KD [9:30pm]: i like it_

_LL [9:30pm]: of course you do_

_KD [9:31pm]: i'm glad you recognized it, btw_

_LL [9:31pm]: yeah, reminds me of the dumbest time of my life_

_KD [9:31pm]: nah, you were cute_

_LL [9:31pm]: whatever, lol_

She types out, _how was your day_ , then backspaces it, sucks her lip into her mouth, and makes a frustrated noise.

_LL [9:32pm]: it's still dumb, and you're a nerd for using it. i have to go, though, early start tomorrow, you know_

_KD [9:33pm]: okay, sleep well, lee_

_LL [9:33pm]: yeah, you too_

She thinks about typing something else, but shuts her phone screen off instead. She barely gets any sleep that night.

-

_It's 2003, and Lena's knees are scraped up from sneaking out of her bedroom window._

_She has no idea how she's supposed to get home, and it's way later than she planned to stay out, and she's definitely going to be grounded for the next five years, and it's all because she wanted to go to a sketchy as fuck club and watch four sweaty guys with too much eye-liner play loud music and scream indiscernibly into a microphone. But she fucking loves every second of it, from the dank smell of the room, to the sticky old-wood floors, to the blonde in the center of the moshpit that keeps making eye contact with her._

_The one with the black beanie and pleated skirt, and the cutest fucking smile as she tackles guys around._

_They're basically the only two girls here, and Lena wants to talk to her. She wants to pull her in a corner and make-out or become best friends, or ask if she knows about any other underground shit. She wants to stay out all night and never go home again, because she's had two beers and she feels invincible—like she could do anything, like she could be anyone, like she's on top of the world._

_-_

The closer her show gets, the more it dawns on her that she's never done this without Kara. And, as much as she wants to make it on her own, she also wants this to _work_. It feels superstitious, but a day before the show she breaks down and texts her.

**_< Messages Kara Info_ **

_LL [7:28pm]: i'm doing a show tomorrow and i know this is super last minute but would you like to come_

_KD [7:32pm]: i'd love to come. i'll be there_

_LL [7:33pm]: you can bring whoever you want_

_KD [7:34pm]: awesome, Alex would kill me if she missed this haha_

_KD [8:32pm]: by the way, just so i know, where do you need me?_

_LL [8:40pm]: what do you mean?_

_KD [8:45pm]: i mean, like, do you need me in the wings so only you know i'm there? do you need me on stage with you playing drums or piano or just, i don't know, singing back-up sounds? do you need me in the front row so you can look at me and no one else? do you need me by the door so you can see me if you think about leaving. just, where do you need me?_

_KD [8:48pm]: i just thought maybe that's why you texted me_

_KD [8:50om]: where do you **want me? you don't need me, i know that_

_LL [8:55pm]: in the wings. i want you there. is that okay?_

_KD [8:56pm]: it's perfect. it's your day, okay? i'll just be there to support you anyway i can._


	3. Chapter 3

Lena wakes up on the morning of her show the way she usually does: a few seconds of generally appreciating life, followed by a struggle to recall a weird-as-fuck dream, which usually coincides with her remembering all the things she needs to accomplish that day like an anvil crashing down on her soul.

But today, it's different: everything she's worked for is finally starting to pay off. She's coming back. Her show sold out. Sam said her songs sound good, and she can feel it in her _heart_ that it's true. She's doing it. She's fucking doing it.

She rolls over and checks her phone to see a million text messages.

**_< Messages Samantha Info_ **

_SA [7:28am]: i haven't been this excited for a concert since I sewed my own skirt for the staind family values tour in 11 th grade_

_SA [7:28am]: which was, honestly, not that great_

_SA [7:28am]: but it was an experience_

_SA [7:30am]: WHY AREN'T YOU AWAKE YET I'VE BEEN LOSING MY MIND SINCE 4 AM_

_LL [7:35am]: I'M AWAKE I'M AWAKE MY MIND IS LOST_

_LL [7:35am]: this makes me more nervous than the introductions game at camp hopeanoke_

_SA [7:35am]: you'll do great_

_SA [7:36am]: im seriously losing my mind, though_

_SA [7:36am]: i've already had three bagels with loaded cream cheese_

_LL [7:36am]: ugh, don't talk about food im having muesli cereal and i'm dreading it already_

_SA [7:37am]: you're gonna be a master chef by the end of this, just remember that_

_LL [7:37am]: ugh not even. anyway, i'm gonna shower and eat then come over_

_LL [7:37am]: and by eat i mean stare at the bowl until im sad enough to eat a scoop of peanut butter_

_LL [7:37am]: i hate my life_

_SA [7:38am]: i love your life_

_SA [7:38am]: i love you_

_SA [7:38am]: im just gonna be on the treadmill blowing off energy_

_SA [7:38am]: text me when you're at the front door_

_LL [7:40am]: k, later, love u too_

She clicks out of the conversation with Sam, yawns, stretches her arms up until her back cracks like she’s an extra on _The_ _Golden Girls_ , then she opens her conversation with Andrea and tries her best not to show she’s _nervous_.

**_< Messages Andrea Info_ **

_LL [7:43am]: i don’t think i’ve ever been this nervous for something in my life_

_LL [7:43am]: like, not even that first show i did with kara when I forgot my own lyrics halfway into the set and she had to sing my part for me_

_AR [7:44am]: nerves are good! this is huge, you’re doing it! sold out and everything. i saw a fucking buzzfeed article talking about it_

_LL [7:44am]: look mom, I’m famous_

_AR [7:45am]: hell yeah you are, you’re gonna crush it tonight_

_LL [7:45am]: meet up at sam’s? gonna do hair and eyebrows and general prep, plus need to link up with the touring band and run some sound stuff, make-up later_

_AR [7:46am]: sounds good, see you there x_

She nearly texts Kara. There's a split second where she opens the conversation and types out four nervous-looking emojis with _big day today_ , but she backspaces it all and then she types _really hope you can make it_ , and then she erases that, too.

She can't fucking talk to Kara. It feels like opening a time capsule and spilling out all this shit she forgot she hid from herself. It feels like nerves and nerves and nerves and memories she hates to revisit, even though all she does nowadays is _revisit_.

She replays being young and dumb and reckless in her mind as much as anyone else who's approaching mid-thirties, mind slipping backward every time her hip hurts or she remembers she's no longer a part of the fucking youth vote and people look at her like she has her shit together. She doesn't just think about Kara, either, she thinks about all the shit she's done, all the mistakes she's made, all the people she's had sex with. But most of it comes in flashes, things she remembers _barely_ : straddling someone on a couch, being pushed against a wall, having her hair pulled too hard. Then she gets to Kara and it's like things slow down and their entire friendship is stuck in her mind in painfully vivid detail.

She just. Can't talk to her. Not like she wants to.

She throws her phone on her bed and gets up to take a shower.

-

_It's 2009, and they're on Live! with Tommy Hogan, and Lena feels like she's floating out of her body as she watches Kara smile at the camera, eyes twinkling as she tilts her head and says, "Sorry ladies, but I'm only into guys. To each their own, though."_

_She knew something was up when Kara twisted out of holding her hand backstage, but she didn't know Kara would tell the world she's not into girls before she told Lena. She didn't know she'd have to stop herself from falling apart on stage, because the girl she's been making out with for years now didn't want to give a heads-up she was about to clear the rumors about her sexuality. That she was about to stick a nail in their coffin once and for all by revealing that she is, in fact, not into girls. She's not into Lena._

_She's not into Lena._

_Lena feels cold. She feels alone and confused and angry, but mostly hurt._

_She smiles, though, then blocks everything out as she answers the next question._

_-_

"Do you think the sky blue button-down is too off-brand for my first show?" Lena asks. "Maybe I should ease them into it, wear like a navy-blue top before I bring out the pastels, I don't know. Am I over-thinking this? I invited Kara."

"Your shirt is perfect," Sam says, standing over the chair Lena's seated in, tilting Lena's head back for the thousandth time to pluck another hair from her eyebrows. They're in her bedroom-sized walk-in closet and Andrea's checking her ass out in the three-sixty mirror, and the air in the room feels too calm for what Lena's heart is doing in her chest.

It's six hours until the show, and she had four scoops of peanut butter instead of one, and she very much feels like the train in the Trolley Problem right this moment: going somewhere bad, way too fast, no good ending no matter what. 

"Kara?" Andrea questions, unhooking her thumbs from the waist of her jeans and turning towards Lena. "That sounds like a decision you spent a lot of time thinking about and it's gonna work out great tonight?"

"I convinced myself I'd fail without her. It was a little bit--okay, _mostly_ \--a panic text," Lena admits.

"Well your eyebrows are going to look damn good," Sam says.

Lena can sense Andrea frowning even though she's decided on keeping her eyes glued to the ceiling. "Objectively, I don't think she's a _bad_ idea," Andrea starts to say, but Sam clears her throat, so Andrea says, "We're there when and if and however you need us." 

"Don't be weird," Lena groans, "just, I need you to disaster plan. Throw me some what-ifs."

"What if everything about your show went perfectly tonight?" Sam asks right away, and Lena groans again.

"Sam's banned from this game. Andrea, your turn."

"What if," Andrea drags out, then suddenly she's closer, plopping herself down at Lena's feet and giving her calves a caring squeeze. "I know--what if we ordered food from one of those Italian restaurants with really good gluten-free options and a great wine selection, and pretended calorie counting and ex-situationships didn't exist. Just us and pasta and the knowledge that your EP is fucking fantastic?"

"You're both banned," Lena sighs, closing her eyes. "Pasta sounds fucking incredible."

-

The location of her show is fairly intimate: one of those clubs that doubles as a concert hotspot, has a proper stage and backstage and Lena even got a local singer as an opener. It's amazing. It all feels legitimate in ways she doesn't feel about herself, but she's _here_.

She's here, backstage, in her sky blue button-down with her redwood guitar, positively leaving sweat stains in her pits.

"God, you look fantastic," Andrea says, grabbing the guitar from Lena, dragging a hand across her waist and swatting at her hip. "I'll have a guy triple check this is tuned, how about you take a lap for nerves?"

Lena wants to say _i don't need a lap_ or ask if she _can just leave_ or mention _kara's not here yet, and my set is on in twenty minutes_ , but instead she nods and paces two quick laps around the space before she ends up in the same spot. Shaking her leg. Staring at the door.

She needs Kara. She needs her here like the Broncos needed Manning, and she has too much riding on tonight to lie to herself about that.

She has entirely too much nervous energy to sit still, so after another minute of waiting she pulls her phone out of her pocket and clicks her screen on just to see it's _empty_ , then she unlocks it and opens her chat with Kara. She types out six different texts that she ends up deleting, then huffs about it, then types another and deletes that too, before a banner pops up at the top of her screen from Sam. 

She thinks _oh thank jesus_ , before she reads the text, and _oh_.

**_< Messages Samantha Info_ **

_SA [7:44pm]: look up, babe. she's here, stop worrying_.

Lena snaps her head up so fast she almost feels embarrassed, but _god_ , there she is. Kara fucking Danvers in an open flannel with a white t-shirt and russet-colored pants, eyes so bright they shine even across the room.

Jesus Christ. She looks good. She looks really fucking good, from the way she smiles as soon as she's through the door to the way she locks eyes with Lena and immediately starts to stagger over. The way her shirt fits over her arms and how her pants hug her thighs. Her hair looks good too, shaggy and fluffy, the way it gets when she doesn’t take the time to tame it straight out of the shower. Lena wants to hug her, wants to barrel into her like a bull and throw her arms over her shoulders. She wants to hold her tight, drown in her smell and appreciate it, touch her the way she should have back at the Farmer's Market when she had the chance.

Instead, she just smiles and wipes her hands on her jeans, walks over slow, and tries not to shake as much as her nerves want her to.

"You came," she says, and it sounds more relieved than she has the energy to worry about.

Kara just squints her eyes like she's saying _don't be ridiculous_ , and then she doesn't even bother to comment on the statement. Instead, she goes with, "Do you know what's funny, but also a little bit embarrassing?"

"Uh, my solo career?"

" _Lena_ ," Kara snaps, but she's smiling. Lena is too, for some reason. "No, but like. I had to give myself a pep talk before coming over just because I knew I was going to be in proximity to the stage again. Which is to say, I bet you're pooping bricks right now."

"Massive understatement," Lena reveals, holding up her hand to show it's vibrating. "I feel like I'm trying to pass the Empire State Building through my colon. My stomach hasn't flip-flopped this hard since we got food poisoning in Boca Raton."

"I'll never forget the sounds that came out of you in that bathroom," Kara laughs, and just like that, she's holding Lena's hand.

"I hate you," Lena smiles.

"You'll crush it today," Kara smiles back, dropping their hands between them but not letting Lena's go. "If there's one thing I'm sure about, it's that you're amazing at music. Better than I ever was."

"I mean, I don't know," Lena says, voice dropping an octave like it does when she's fluttery. Kara's hand is soft and warm, and the last time Lena tried to hold it backstage she twisted it away. "I know I'm good, like, objectively, but--"

"You've never fronted before, I know," Kara finishes, like it's as simple as that even though Lena's struggled all day to find those words. "I know you're super nervous and you feel like all the eyes are on you, and in most ways that's _true_ , but trust me when I say you can do this. You're incredible, okay?"

"I'm not that great," Lena huffs, words falling out before she can stop herself, and then she has to watch the way Kara frowns.

"I know it's new being up there alone," Kara starts slowly, voice softening as she squeezes Lena's hand, thumbs across her knuckles, "but don't take your nerves out on yourself, please. Because the Lena I know has always been _that_ great. And maybe some things have changed over the years that I don't know about, but that part hasn't. You can't convince me otherwise."

"Don't challenge me like that before my show," Lena frowns. "You know I never back down."

"Alright, okay," Kara laughs, smiling wide enough she can't contain it even when she bites her lip. God, Lena missed her so fucking much. She missed that smile and that laugh and that look she gets in her eyes that Lena fell in love with. "You're just being difficult, aren't you? Is that it?"

"I'm not," Lena defends, and it's so goddamn familiar she can feel herself blushing. "I just - I don't know. Keep pumping me up, I'll get there."

"You _are_ there. You got this," Kara encourages, swinging Lena's hand for emphasis.

"Mmm, I'm not feeling it quite yet," Lena hums.

"You just have to say it out loud."

"No," Lena giggles. "M'not pumping myself up in front of you, that's weird. Who would ever do that?"

"I can recite the speech you did in front of the mirror every night," Kara offers, like the little shit she is. Part of Lena _wants_ her to, just to see if she cared enough to actually remember, but the other part of her is _mortified_ that she really did.

"Please don't," she goes with.

"Please say something nice about yourself before I _have_ to," Kara pleads.

"Fine," Lena gives in. "I got this."

"Heck yeah, you do," Kara agrees, then she bites her lip and takes a deep breath and Lena wants to kiss her so much she can tell it's obvious.

"Thanks for coming, by the way. I know it's - I don't know." She shakes her head and pulls her eyes away from the wet, pink of Kara's mouth. "But, thanks. You didn't have to, and I know you're going to say you _did_ , but you didn't."

"I was already coming," Kara shrugs, like it's nothing. "I already had a ticket when you asked me. I wouldn't miss this for anything in the world."

"Fuck, you're just--" Lena cuts off, then she pulls her hand out of Kara's and moves forward to wrap her arms around her waist, pressing her face against Kara's neck and breathing her in because _god_. "I missed you. I'm so sorry I panicked at the Farmer's Market. It's good to see you, it's just. A lot."

"I know," Kara says, wrapping Lena in her arms. "It's all super sudden and your life is already changing a lot. I know. But--well, if you have the time for it, I'd love it if we could talk. Just, sit down and go over everything, or catch up if you're not interested in talking history."

"Okay," Lena agrees. "I'd like that."

"You're gonna do so great today," Kara says, squeezing around her shoulders.

"Okay," Lena says, sinking into the warmth, reciting her dumb pre-performance speech in her head, because Kara's right. She needs it.

"I mean that," Kara tells her.

"I know you do," Lena says, and tries to push every thought and feeling and fear and longing she's had over the years down into some faraway pit she doesn't have to think about, because she has a show.

She has to do her show.

"Really, though. Thanks for coming."

"Yeah, of course," Kara says, giving her another squeeze as the crowd outside bursts into applause, longer than they do when it's just between songs. "I can't wait for the show."

"Yeah," Lena whispers. The opener is finished. She has to go out soon, but she also wants to stay _here_ , wants to hug a little bit longer, feel a little bit better, safer, warmer. She wants to prove to herself she can go out and do this without Kara, but she also never want to _do this_ without Kara, and tonight, at least, she doesn't have to. "I hope you like it."

-

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on [TUMBLR](https://valkyrieskwad.tumblr.com/) and [TWITTER](https://twitter.com/VaIkyrieSquad). Come hang out with me!
> 
> <3


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